The Healing of Lt Colonels
by Stargalaxy
Summary: After being rescued from three months of torture, Sheppard must find his way home through himself and his friends. Oneshot. Complete.


_**Title: The Healing of Lt Colonels**_

**Author:** Stargalaxy  
**Rating:** Gen & T  
** Type:** Angst, HC, Drama  
** Feedback:** Love them  
** Disclaimer:** Stargate: Atlantis and its characters belong to their appropriate proprietors, creators and owners. No copyright infringement is intended. This story was created for entertainment purposes only. No profit has been made from this.  
**Summary**: After being rescued from three months of torture, Sheppard must find his way home through himself and his friends.

**Note**: This story has been edited and hopefully made better as a result of it. 

---

He hunched his shoulders, his head down, his body weary and hurting as he stood alone at the east pier, drinking in the atmosphere. For the first time in months, he found himself actually relaxing slightly. He spread out his fingers and leaned his hands against the balcony rail. With arms extended, he felt the coolness of metal beneath his palms as they took on the weight of his convalescing body. Within the metal, he sensed the hum of Atlantis; the essence that connected him to the Ancient City.

It had been a while since he had experienced such peace, without confusion, fear and pain as his constant companions; such a long time, that it seemed almost like a dream. He cherished the moment, feeling the touch of drizzle upon him: tiny, icy pin-pricks that fell from the open sky to sprinkle down on his slightly fevered body. Even now, he still found it difficult to believe that he was finally free, back on Atlantis again. It had been such a long time and after all that he had been through, it felt alien and strange to him. His mind, he knew, still struggled with the concept. He felt disconnected from his surroundings, from all those who were trying to help him on his road to recovery. He knew that he was not himself; he had been away from Atlantis for far too long - he had suffered at the hands of his tormentors and lost himself somewhere in the process.

He stood still, staring into the depths of the silent sea. For a long moment, his mind was blank. Then slowly, he closed his eyes, forcing himself to feel nothing but the calmness that his environment offered. Despite the drizzle that was now turning into rain, falling lightly upon him, soaking through his clothing, he savoured being there with only the elements for company. The rain seemed cleansing somehow. He knew that the rain would get heavier, that a storm was fast approaching, but he did not care. It was his place of refuge, a solitary friend; with no prying eyes or pitying looks of judgment; with no whispered words or forced cheerful smiles. This place was his own special hide-away, his island of solitary retreat, his attempt to find some peace within himself. He desperately needed this despite what the others told him. Despite Carson insisting that he was too weak to leave the infirmary on his own, that his body needed rest, that his mind needed healing, that he shouldn't be left by himself for fear of a relapse.

Everything that they said were true. Since the rescue he had not been himself. He had tried to shy away from everyone, minimize human contact, lock away the John Sheppard whom they all knew.

The rain was turning heavier now but he made no move for shelter. He stood where he was solitary, still, as if craved from stone; his clothes getting wetter, his skin and hair getting soaked, the bandages wrapping around him, damp. He did not care. The east pier was his refuge. He needed this time alone to himself, to be outside amongst the elements, to breathe the fresh air for himself. Free, refreshingly clean air, where everything smelt of _freedom_. Not in a dark, deep cell, that stank of stale air mixed with the smell of his own blood, sweat, sickness and suffering.

Hazel green eyes opened again and blinked. Unable to stop himself, his mind went back to the time that he was trying so desperately to forget. Mixed with the rain water, he now felt something hot trailing down his cheeks. Soon there was the taste of something salty on his lips. He tried to ignore it, to stop the trembles from happening, to stop the tears from falling. After all, Lt Colonels do not cry. But despite his best efforts, he could not stop his emotions from bursting forth. In the place where he sought refuge, he broke down and cried as he had not done before in a long time; not since he was a small boy at the loss of a parent. One hand now supported his weight on the balcony rail, while the other covered his eyes. Soon he sank down to the floor, a hand now resting on the pier deck. More tears flowed, a release like a tap or a broken dam. It seemed like the weather too was mourning with him, as he released all his pent-up tension kept hidden deep beneath the wall that he had built within himself. Even when _they _had been hurting him, he had never begged for his life, only cursed and fought back for all that he was worth. Yet, with the rain hitting fiercely against his body, he now had the privacy to break down without being noticed by prying eyes.

The three months experience with his torturers had changed him. He no longer knew who he was; his sense of identity was lost somewhere in that cold, dark cell where they had kept him chained in darkness, fed him like a dog and treated him worse than one. They had wanted information from him about Atlantis; they had tried to break him in mind, body and spirit. For as long as he could, he had hung on - fighting back, refusing to betray his home and his friends. For two months he had persevered, hoping, desperately believing that his team would come and get him, free him from his tormentors that tortured him - he had that much belief and faith in them. But as more time passed, that belief slowly eroded to doubt, hurt, anger, frustration, rage and finally despair. He felt abandoned once again, but this time it was worse, because this time there was no time dilation field to blame; this time he had no new friends to offer him comfort and companionship. All he had was pain and despair and his own stubbornness to _not _give his captors what they wanted.  
_  
You never leave your people behind... _It was his mantra, his belief in life, what made him who he was. He had taught them that. For a long time, he had believed that they would find him, rescue him. But after the second month, his faith wavered, eroded, and little by little, his captors stripped it away from him: his belief that his team would ever find him. Doubts began to form along with despair at the thought that perhaps his people thought him dead, that they had given up on him, that unknowingly, they had abandoned him. After all, it had been so long, surely after _two months _of being in this hell hole, they should have found him by now. To make things worse, all escape attempts that he made had failed and each time he had paid the price of it. Finally, one day, after two and a half months of captivity in the dark, cold cell of his prison, his interrogators arrived, showing him photographs of his team. They told him that they were dead and the evidence of the photos proved it as much.

It was the day that he had lost all hope and sank into the dark depression of despair. He retreated then into the silence of his mind. That was the only way he knew how to protect Atlantis and not reveal to his captors what they wanted to know. It had been too long, and his mind never thought to consider that the photographs had been faked, used in hopes to break him when they discovered that all else couldn't. The evidence of his team's deaths had hit him hard. It was mind games that they played, but after months of relentless slow torture and continuous interrogation, including various experimental drugs being injected into his system, he no longer knew truth from lies.

They had finally found a way to break him, but not in the way they had expected. His mind had retreated into its own inner world: a world where they could no longer hurt him or harm him any longer. He had disconnected himself from all feeling and caring about anything that happened around him. It was the day that he had given up hope. It was the day that he had stopped eating or drinking on his own. It was the day that he no longer cared whether he lived or died. It was also the day where in order to keep him alive, they force-fed him things not worth thinking about. But through it all, they had failed in their purpose for him to betray those whom he protected - he never revealed the information that they sought. What he fed them was nonsensical information, leading to false trails and dead ends. And each time after checking them out, they came back to punish him more harshly for his lies.

When his team finally arrived to rescue him, they found him barely alive. His body was covered with evidence of torture, both old and new, his eyes unfocused and dulled, his mind burning with fever and pumped with too many experimental drugs. It took three months for his team to finally track him down and rescue him, but by then it was too late. The intensive psychological and physical trauma that he had gone through had made their mark on him. The man whom they knew as Lt Colonel John Sheppard was no longer the same man they once knew. In his place was a shell of a man. A man whose mind had somehow retreated deep within himself where it was safe, where nobody could hurt him any more. A man who had gone there willingly in order to protect those whom he cared about. He no longer recognised the faces of his team mates, his friends, his family; those whom he'd waited for so long to come and rescue him from the hell he was in. They came a little too late. He no longer knew who he was anymore. He was lost. His eyes stared sightlessly into space and his mind remained hidden from all those who tried to reach it.

---

When the first awareness of conscious rational thought returned, it had been like a dream of swimming in a long underwater tunnel, getting lost in its maze and finally seeing the first glint of light from above. Things were sluggish, confusing and irrational at first. Many things did not make sense during those few, brief moments of lucidity. It didn't make sense for his rational mind to discover that he was in a place where people cared about him and treated him with dignity and human respect. He had almost forgotten what it was like to be treated like a human being again. It had been too long since he felt the kindness of human contact that he did not recognise his own name when they called him. In his prison, he had always been referred to as a number.

Now, when he opened his eyes, he often saw a sea of faces gazing at him: kind faces, caring faces, vaguely familiar faces of dead people whom he once knew in another place, at another time. Most of the time, he did not recognise them for he had made himself forget all those whom he had cared about and believed dead. Now, even though his eyes saw them, his mind did not accept them for what they truly were. He thought them illusions and he found it difficult to distinguish reality from fantasy.

However, slowly, through kindness, patience, caring and understanding from those around him, his mind would occasionally resurface from the dark murky waters where he hid himself. There were times when he would become aware of the sounds in his environment, of movement, of speech.

With his eyes staring into space, he would occasionally hear the sounds of rapid typing, the clicker click of fingers flying swiftly across a keyboard, the murmur of words as someone spoke to him. It was a pattern that occurred regularly, yet sounded strangely comforting. Sometimes that keyboard would stop and a voice would speak to him. What about? He really didn't know nor care, but soon it became like a familiarity of an old friend and he began to look forward to it.

At nights, when his nightmares caused him to snap awake in cold sweat, screaming until his throat was raw, he would hear soothing familiar voices speak to him, calling out his name, reassuring him that he was safe among friends - that he was home again. _Home. _That word seemed to mock him in its twisted irony. He didn't know what _home _was anymore. Despite the words spoken to him, he would fight against the hands that tried to hold him down; those that prevented him from getting out of bed and making his escape. He would fight back for all he was worth, screaming curses at his captors until he was subdued when he felt something cool hit his veins. Then the darkness would claim him and he always welcomed it with open arms.

Sometimes, on better occasions, while half dozing in slumber, he would hear a familiar female voice humming or singing softly to him. At other times, he would hear a deep male voice greet him with a word or two. And yet, at other occasions, he would hear another female voice, telling him about the City and the going-ons of the people within it. Once in a while, he would feel gently fingers on him, brushing against his skin, moving away a stray hair or two that fell across his eyes. And at least once a day, he would hear a male voice rambling on about scientific discoveries and events of a life that he had long forgotten.

So began his days of awareness, and slowly, ever so slowly, the haze of his mind began to clear and he soon began to recognise the people around him.

Then one day, he woke up with the awareness that the ghosts of the death were no longer ghosts any longer but in fact real people whom he cared about. It was the day where he had been reborn again. It was the day where he wanted to come back to the world of the living again. It was the day where he finally started to pay more attention to his surroundings and those around him.

Yet, the road to recovery was not an easy one for the one called John Sheppard. With awareness came the recognition of pity from those who saw and watched over him. The stares, the looks, the unspoken compassion that he saw in their eyes were more than he could bear. The knowledge that he was being treated as if he was made of eggshell made him feel helpless, angry and frustrated. Furthermore, the nightmares that he experienced nightly was not helping in his road to recovery. And his sessions with Heightmeyer was not helping either. The healing that he longed for was shattered by flashes of torture that he could not forget. Those who cared about him, worried about him, pitied him, and much as he needed them, he hated them for it.

So in hopes of escaping it all, he had fled the infirmary when no one was looking. Some inner subconscious part of him had led him to the east pier. So now he stood there alone - drenched, trembling and soaked to the bone. At the wind tossed sea and furious pounding rain, he cried and yelled out abuse at the elements. He released all the pent-up emotions and rage that he held deep within him and he tossed them into the face of the wild storm. And for the first time, in a long while, he felt better for it.

---

When they finally found him, he was done with raging at the world and the storm had lessened to a gentle downpour. His shaking had also settled with no evidence of his earlier melt-down. He was standing still, calm, almost peaceful... staring out at the storm tossed sea, when he felt a hand reach out to touch his shoulder, gripping him, comforting in its presence.

"Hey..." a voice tentatively addressed him, "Sheppard, you okay? We've been looking everywhere for you. You almost gave Carson a heart attack when he discovered that you were missing, did you know that? We finally managed to track you down when the scanners indicated that there was someone standing outside at the east pier. In weather like this, I knew it had to be you. After all, this has always been your favourite haunt. I should have guessed that you would be here, but never figured that you had the strength to make it so far on your own..."

He recognised the voice. He remembered that the man was Dr Rodney McKay; someone whom he knew, some one whom he worked with - a friend, perhaps more brother than friend.

So he nodded, his gaze still focused on the sea.

"Ronon and Teyla with you?" he asked quietly, glad to hear that his voice sounded calm, normal, with no evidence of any earlier tremor or weakness.

"Yeah," replied Rodney. "They came with me. They're waiting for you. But they thought I should see you first. You... " the scientist paused, as if unsure of what to say, uncertain how he would react. Rodney was never good at giving comfort; he was never a people person. "You sure you're all right, Sheppard? Do you want to come in now? You must be cold..." __

Also one to always state the obvious.

Still facing the sea, John Sheppard pursed his lips together more like a grimace than a smile. Rodney was treating him with kid-gloves again. Whatever happened to the sarcasm and bite? He missed that. He didn't want their pity, he didn't want them constantly hovering over him. He wanted them to treat him normally again...

"For a genius, you can be really stupid at times, did you know that?" The words came out harsher than expected. Perhaps his bitterness was showing through. But than McKay already knew that, which was why he wasn't treating him normally anyway.

There was a pregnant pause, a beat, he could almost hear the scientist's head ticking away at that statement, bristling and wondering how to respond. Finally, "_What?!_"

That took its own sweet time and the response wasn't even barbed. McKay must be losing his sarcastic wit; all that egg-walking must be making him soft. It was time to get things back to normal again.

"You heard me, McKay. Enough with the pitying. I'm sick of it. I want you and everyone else to treat me as before..." He could not say _before _his capture, _before _his torture, _before _everything had turned to crap. But McKay knew what he meant, after all, he was a smart guy.

He still didn't turn to face McKay; it was easier to speak how he felt without looking at the man. Opening up was never easy for him.

"Oh..." came the stunned response. "I don't... I mean, we don't..."

"Cut with the crap, McKay, I may be screwed, but there's still enough of me here to recognise pity when I see it. Sometimes I need to be alone. It's understanding I need, not pity..."

Another long pause with no defensive retort swung his way. The scientist knew what he meant and was feeling guilty. Not like him at all. Must to be all that dust gathered in McKay's brain when Sheppard was away; not having someone to keep up with the scientist's unique form of the verbal repertoire. Sheppard missed the banter and jokes he used to share with his team.

When Rodney spoke next, his voice sounded different, more McKayish. "Well then, if you put it _that _way... this rain is _not _doing me any good, it's wet and I'm cold. In fact, if I catch my death or a cold, it'll be all _your _fault! And besides, you must be freezing too. So, let's get your ass back to the infirmary before Carson sticks it with a big needle to teach you a lesson after that breakout stunt you just pulled."

For the first time in a long while, John Sheppard's lips curved into a genuine smile. He was ready to face McKay now. He needed normalcy between them, not constant watching or uncalled for nagging.

The annoyance that danced in Rodney's eyes was good to see but it slowly faded as the blue eyes fell upon his wet form. The scientist cleared his throat and looked at Sheppard in doubtful concern. "Are you okay?"

John Sheppard thought about it and nodded, "Yeah, I will be."

It felt as if part of the weight had been lifted from him. It was not only because McKay was treating him more normally again, but because he had managed to take some of his rage out at the passing storm.

Sheppard saw McKay nod, moving to help him. However, the scientist's features betrayed that he needed to say something more and was debating inwardly about it.

"Spit it out McKay," Sheppard said, his hands now going to his sides, feeling the painful throbbing of his healing wounds; the wet bandages were not helping. Rodney's earlier comments made him realise his body's discomfort, he didn't realise that he was shivering until now.

"How did you know I wanted to say something?" McKay asked, looking up surprised at him.

He was glad to know that his powers of observation had not left him. "I know _you_, McKay," he replied. _Even though nobody else seems to know me anymore_, came the bitter thought. _Have I changed that much? _he wondered.

Rodney looked at the raging sea and the rain for a few heartbeats, then blue eyes darted back towards him, scrutinizing him before locking onto his gaze. "Not now, Sheppard, perhaps after we get you under some shelter and back into bed again."

It was strange to hear words of compassion coming from Rodney McKay. This time it wasn't pity but concern. Yet, despite it, Sheppard felt an irrational stubbornness come alive deep within him. Perhaps because he had been controlled for so long that he felt the need to get his way. Besides, he preferred the privacy of speaking his thoughts out in the wind and rain rather than in the all too confining four walls of the infirmary.

"No, if you wish to speak, do it now." His tone, he knew, sounded harsh but at the moment, he didn't care.

"Oh... so you would rather chat here in the rain rather than in the nice warm and _dry_, infirmary?" Rodney retorted, clearly not impressed.

"Yes."

"Fine then!" the scientist retorted, throwing his hands up in the air, clearly annoyed. At least Rodney was listening to him. _He _was no longer pitying him.

When Rodney took a deep breath, Sheppard instinctively knew that he had something important to say and that the scientist was uncomfortable saying it.

"You know, you've constantly risked your life, saving us, the City, etc. Well, the thing is, everyone in their right minds can see that the counseling sessions you're having with Kate Heightmeyer aren't helping. So well, we thought... look, um... what I'm trying to say is, why don't you allow us...that is, Teyla, Ronon and I, to help you deal with it?"

Sheppard's eyes narrowed. "How?" he asked. His time at the pier had helped; it had released a dam within him. Now, he was more ready to heal, to get back his life again. But he was wise enough to know that his time outside wasn't good enough; he needed something more in his road to recovery; he needed a way to stop the nightmares from recurring.

Rodney looked a little uncomfortable. Nevertheless he pushed forward. "Well, I thought that if you wanted to, we could talk about it. I mean, we're here for you, all of us. Me, Teyla and Ronon. Even Carson, Elizabeth and Kath. We all want to help. Maybe you could ... oh... meditate with Teyla or something?"

"Meditate?" Sheppard lifted an eyebrow.

"Yeah, why not? After all, you did learn some meditation skills from your ascended friends, didn't you? I hear it's very calming. Anyway, as I was saying, let her help you. Let _us _help you. And if you want to yell at me or Teyla or Ronon, just do so. We can all throw insults at each other for all it's worth... Cos what happened to you, Sheppard, really sucked - major league big-time! You have the right to be angry. Hell, we didn't find you until after three friggin' months later!"

Sheppard closed his eyes at this. He _didn't _need to be reminded of it. He knew it all too well...

"Heightmeyer said..."

"Wait! You have been talking to Kate?" Sheppard opened his eyes, interrupting McKay's speech. He wasn't sure he liked that. Wacko Sheppard. He knew what some people must be thinking of him.

"No... yes..." McKay replied, "Shit, you're confusing me, just let me finish speaking, damn it! Look," Rodney took a deep breath, "what I'm trying to say is that we're all trying to help, yes, even Heightmeyer, after all, she's a _shrink _for friggin' sake! But we all know that you need help Sheppard, and we're here for you. Anyway, as I was saying, when you're feeling up to it, maybe you could also do a little work-out with Ronon. Perhaps, a boxing match to beat him up or something? It'll help you get rid of some of your pent up anger and frustration over what happened."

"So, I beat up Ronon even though the guy didn't do anything to me? Now _that_ makes sense. Actually, I think it might be the case of _Ronon _beating me up, Rodney," Sheppard replied with a wry look. "So... whose idea was this?"

"What do you mean?" McKay asked, sounding surprised.

"Well, somebody had to cook this up."

"Oh... well, okay, I fess up, we had a team meeting, trying to work out ways to help you. Everybody contributed, Ronon even offered to go easy on you, maybe even allow you to _beat _him up once in a while!"

"The big guy said that?" Sheppard felt surprised, touched. "Wait! This isn't pitying again is it?"

"Geesh! Why don't you ask the big guy himself when you see him? Actually, he said that he would _only _do that if you start behaving like you _needed _to win! You know, by behaving sad or pathetic or something..."

"That'll be the day!" Sheppard retorted darkly.

"So, are you willing to do it?" Rodney asked, looking at him intently now.

Sheppard thought about what McKay said. In a strange way, it seemed to make some sense. In fact, what McKay suggested sounded pretty good. His team was trying to help him get over this, perhaps that was what he needed. A hopeful look lighted in his eyes and he nodded in agreement.

"Well, I don't _know _about a boxing match with the big guy but he can join me for a run. And I suppose meditating with Teyla cannot hurt. Maybe, it might help me sleep better." He refused to mention nightmares. "But," a slow grin now formed, "I shall enjoy tossing food at you, Rodney."

"Hah hah! Not funny!" McKay retorted.

Sheppard grinned. "Only kidding, McKay. It sounds good."

"Really?" Rodney asked, surprised.

Sheppard stared at the scientist, his clothes were now dripping wet against the downpour and his shivering was getting worse. "Yeah, I do..."

"Hmm, well.. good, good. Now can we _please_ get out of this rain?! I don't know about you, Sheppard, but I'm already _freezing _my butt off. I'm sure I've already caught a cold or something; something nasty that involves lots of sneezing, which I'm so going to blame you for, by the way!"

Sheppard laughed. It was another thing that he hadn't done for a long time, and it felt good.

However, as he turned to follow Rodney back to the infirmary, the strength of his legs suddenly gave way and his vision spun most alarmingly. It looked like he had spent way too much time out in the storm, and his body was now suffering for it. He heard a curse from Rodney, then hands caught him before he hit the ground. He was grateful that he didn't hit the hard deck. That would have been painful. He heard McKay calling out frantically to Teyla and Ronon, while complaining about stubborn colonels under his breath.

By now his eyelids were getting heavy and he couldn't seem to keep them open. He heard running footsteps, then he felt a pair of strong arms suddenly lift him, carrying him gently off the floor. A low voice, not McKay's, spoke to him.

"You'll be okay, Sheppard. I'm taking you back to the infirmary."

As they stepped out of the rain, he felt another set of smaller hands on him and a warm, dry blanket was placed gently around his shivering form.

"He is freezing!" he heard Teyla's voice say worriedly to the Satedan. A second later, he felt her warm hand on his face, pushing away wet hair from his forehead. "Do not worry, John. You are going to be fine."

He nodded, keeping his eyes still closed, too weary to say anything now. He felt her head turn away from him. "What took you so long to get him back inside again, Rodney?" Teyla's voice now addressed the scientist.

"I was telling him what we had talked about earlier. You know, how we could all help him recover?" Rodney replied.

"You had to do it in the rain?" Dex asked. Sheppard could almost sense the lift in the Satedan's eyebrow and Teyla's disapproving look.

"Not... Rodney's ... fault. I ... asked him to speak..." Sheppard mumbled softly, coming to the scientist's defense. The blankets felt good against his cold and wet body. Sleep was calling his name.

"Yes, Sheppard insisted," McKay agreed. "There were things that we needed to discuss. The colonel told me that he doesn't need our pity. And to stop staring at him all the time."

Sheppard smiled at Rodney's words. He hadn't mentioned anything about the stares he had received from people. Obviously McKay was more astute than he gave him credit for.

"He wants us to treat him normally. So, when he does something stupid, like going out into a rainstorm by himself while he's still feverish and unwell, we're allowed to tell him off, not coddle him like he's made of glass or something. But of course, we make sure that he's all right first. The berating can start when he's up and well again under Carson's watchful eye..."

"No berating would be even better..." he mumbled wearily, trying to hide his face under the warm blankets. Not easy to do especially when you were being carried hurriedly to the infirmary by the big guy.

Even though he had his eyes still closed, he could sense the smiles on his team's faces at his words. The road to recovery was still a long way off, but it was a beginning. He now didn't have to do it alone. He had his team to help him with it. He felt safe, and with that feeling of safety, he allowed himself to sink into the darkness that called his name. 

**The End**


End file.
